(toi)let me in
Written for the APS server’s first birthday! Thank y’all for creating such an amazing and fun space.
Summary: One lesson Adrien Agreste should have learned by now: Never ask what are the odds when you have the luck of a black cat.
Rating: G Word count: 1767
Read on AO3
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Adrien Agreste is wide awake.
He’s been lying in Marinette’s loft bed for ten minutes now, one arm slung over Marinette and his chin tucked against her shoulder, sure that if he just waits, he’ll fall back asleep.
This isn’t the first time that he’s sneaked into her room as Chat Noir and slept beside her. In fact, ever since they found out each other’s identities two weeks ago and started dating, it’s fairly commonplace.
It is, however, the first time he’s woken up desperately having to go to the bathroom.
He doesn’t want to disturb her, and what’s more, he doesn’t really want to risk going downstairs. What if someone sees him? The chances are slim, but then, Adrien’s never had the best luck.
Adrien groans and squeezes his eyes shut, trying to ignore the ache in his bladder. It’s no use, though: despite the grogginess in his head, he can’t fall back asleep, and there’s no way he’s going to last until morning.
With a sigh, he eases the covers back and crawls out from under them. As he does, Marinette mumbles and rolls over to face him, her fingers tugging at his shirt sleeve.
“Where’re you going?” she asks, words slurred by sleep.
“Bathroom,” Adrien whispers. “Go back to sleep. I’ll be right back.”
He smooths back her bangs and kisses her forehead, then crawls to the foot of the bed and descends the ladder. Walking lightly so that the floor doesn’t creak, he crosses to the trapdoor and opens it ever-so-slightly.
Holding his breath, Adrien listens for the sound of voices or footsteps below.
Silence greets him. Satisfied, Adrien eases the door open and lowers his body through it.
He can get there and back in less than a minute. The chances that either one of Marinette’s parents will also decide to go to the bathroom in the forty-five seconds it takes Adrien to pee—well, the chances are so low, in fact, that they might as well be nonexistent.
And so, moving as silently as his superhero namesake, Adrien creeps downstairs toward the Dupain-Cheng bathroom.
*** *** *** *** *** ***
Tom Dupain awakes with a need.
He had a feeling he shouldn’t have chugged that bottle of water before bed, but what’s done is done; now he is awake in the middle of the night and forced to deal with the consequences.
With a heavy sigh, he rolls out of bed and drags himself to the bedroom door. Sabine’s quiet snores fill the room, assuring him that at least he hasn’t woken her up.
He opens the door and steps outside, moving as quietly as his weight will allow—and that’s when he sees a figure standing outside the bathroom door, frozen with its hands raised in surrender.
The stranger is too tall to be Marinette, but too small to be an adult. Nonetheless, adrenaline courses through Tom’s veins, and he takes a threatening step forward. “Who are you?” he asks. He reaches toward the wall and taps the light switch, bathing the room in dim amber light.
The stranger doesn’t say anything, but Tom’s question is answered: because standing in front of him, hair sticking up, eyes wide, is his daughter’s classmate Adrien Agreste.
“Adrien Agreste?” Tom says.
Knowing the intruder’s identity does not make things any clearer. Why is a teen idol who lives several blocks away standing outside Tom Dupain’s bathroom at three in the morning? Is this a dream? And if so, why is Tom dreaming about his daughter’s crush breaking into their apartment in the middle of the night?
“I, um…” Adrien’s eyes flick toward the kitchen window, almost as if he’s considering that as an escape route. “Our toilet is broken.”
Tom stares at him, not sure he’s heard correctly. Maybe there’s too much wax in his ears again. “What did you say?”
“Our…toilet broke, so…I came here?”
As the parent of a fourteen year-old, Tom Dupain is well-acquainted with teenagers and their bizarre excuses. On a scale of one to ten, he ranks Adrien’s a three. While a broken toilet is not unheard of, there are too many holes in this story: how did Adrien get in, if their front door is locked and everyone is asleep? If Adrien lives in a mansion, shouldn’t his father be able to afford twenty-four-seven toilet fixing?
And the most unbelievable part of all, which is how Tom knows for a fact that Adrien is lying: there is no way the Agrestes only have one toilet in their house.
“How did your toilet break?” Tom asks, narrowing his eyes.
“Uh.” Adrien clears his throat. “Water…rabbits.”
“Water rabbits.”
“They’re not actually rabbits,” Adrien says. “They are bugs. That…eat metal. And toilets.”
Tom squints at him. Maybe this is a dream. Isn’t Adrien supposed to be at the top of his class? This excuse is so disappointing that Tom is tempted to call Adrien’s father, just to tell him that Adrien needs to work on his improvisation skills.
“Water not-rabbits ate your toilet, you say,” Tom says. “Do I look stupid to you, Adrien Agreste?”
“No!” Adrien says. “They just got in the pipes. And…” He grimaces. “Okay. I lied. I clogged the toilet.”
Ah. Tom was once a teenage boy who did not understand how to use toilet paper in moderation. He’ll give Adrien the benefit of the doubt, although two questions still remain. “And you only have one toilet in that big mansion of yours?”
“There’s something wrong with the tank in the downstairs one,” Adrien says, his voice steadier than before. “It overflows if you flush it, and we can’t get someone to look at it until tomorrow morning. There is another one in my father’s room, but I didn’t want to wake him up to tell him that I clogged the toilet. He’s gotten mad about smaller things.”
Tom’s stubborn parental streak rears its head, and he fights the urge to spontaneously adopt Adrien Agreste. He can’t do that, of course. After all, Marinette can’t date Adrien if Tom adopts him, and since Marichat doesn’t seem to be happening yet, he supposes Adrienette is the second-best option.
Of course, Tom knows Adrienette won’t last. Especially not if Adrien is the type of boy who breaks into people’s homes and attempts to surreptitiously uses their toilets.
Which brings Tom to his final question. “Why our toilet? And how did you get in?”
“Oh, um, well…” Adrien rubs the back of his neck. “I texted Marinette, and she was kind enough to let me in. And she didn’t see a need to wake you up, since she was sure you would say yes!” He smiles tightly, eyes wide. “Um. You would have said yes, right?”
“I would,” Tom says, leaning forward. Adrien cowers slightly, and it occurs to Tom that maybe his stature is a bit intimidating.
Good. Let all teenage boys (or girls) cower before him. Tom Dupain doesn’t need a shovel talk; his body will be the shovel talk.
“But where is she?” Tom asks. Adrien’s excuse is approaching an eight or nine on the scale, but some loose ends remain. “Why didn’t she wait down here with you? My daughter is responsible. She must have known this would look bad. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were…”
And then it hits Tom: it looks an awful lot like Marinette sneaked a boy into her room in the middle of the night.
OCCAM’S RAZOR, his mind booms.
Adrien flinches, and that’s all it takes for Tom’s Papa Senses to start tingling. “Adrien,” he says, his voice low. “Did my daughter—”
“No!” Adrien says. “No. Marinette would never do something like that. Neither would I! I—I’m not like that. I’ve never even seen Marinette’s room! Or, well, I have—but only once, when we practiced for that gaming tournament. Technically twice, since it was on TV that one time—”
“Where is she?” Tom repeats. He can practically feel his mustache trembling with suppressed fatherly rage.
“Oh! Right.” Adrien’s throat jumps as he swallows. “She just, uh, heard something skittering around upstairs, and thought it might be a mouse, so she went to—”
“There are mice in my bakery?” Tom bellows.
“No!” Adrien says. “Or, I mean, I don’t know. Maybe it was a squirrel!”
“That’s still a rodent!” Tom says. His concerns about Sabine’s sleep evaporate, and he turns to pound on their bedroom door. “Sabine! Wake up! There are rodents in our bakery!”
“Maybe there aren’t!” Adrien says. “It’s probably cockroaches—no, wait! Dust mites! I’m sure it’s just dust mites. I’m sure if you had enough of them they could make some noise—um, actually, could we continue this conversation after I’ve gone to the bathroom, please?”
And then a familiar figure appears at the bottom of the stairs, yawning as she tugs at one of her pigtails. “Adrien,” she says, “when are you coming back up? You’ve been gone for more…than…” She trails off, eyes widening as they focus on Tom.
Tom feels like his eyes are glowing red, and judging by the look on Adrien’s face, they very well might be. “You were upstairs, were you, Adrien? That’s strange. There’s not an entrance to our house upstairs.”
Adrien’s eyes dart to the bathroom door, then to Tom, then to Marinette—then, again, to the window for some reason. His hand creeps toward the bathroom door, fingers curled to clutch the knob.
“Don’t you dare,” Tom says.
Adrien pauses, hand lightly grasping the handle.
Tom glowers at him, a low growl building in his throat.
“Adrien,” Marinette squeaks. “Please don’t leave me to explain this by myse—”
“I’m sorry!” Adrien yelps. Fast as lightning, he wrenches the door open and ducks inside.
Tom lunges forward, hand grabbing the knob—but it’s too late. He hears the tell-tale click from the other side as Adrien locks himself in the bathroom, and the knob refuses to twist.
“You can’t hide in there forever!” Tom says.
“Tom,” Sabine’s voice says, from behind him. “What’s going on? Did I hear you say something about rodents?”
“Rodents?” Marinette echoes.
In a desperate display of strength, Tom twists harder at the knob, and harder—until it pops right off the door with a cracking noise.
“Oh my god,” Marinette says. “You sealed him in.”
“He did what?” Adrien’s voice cries.
“Enjoy our toilet, Adrien Agreste,” Tom says, with his most menacing voice. He raises the door knob like a sword. “Enjoy it, because this is the last time I let you near my toilet—or my daughter—ever again.”
